


Late Night Fears

by wyntirrose



Series: Trials and Blessings [21]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-24
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/wyntirrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long surgery Ratchet needs to rest, and it’s all Prowl can do to keep the CMO  away from med bay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Fears

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** This was written for the TF_Rare_Pairings community over on LiveJournal for their Weekly challenge. Special thanks to bittereloquence for providing help and encouragement with this fic.

Ratchet entered Prowl's office unannounced and uninvited, dropping immediately onto the couch. With a weary exhalation, he leaned back, offlining his optics. As soon as he came in the 2IC looked up and put his data pad down. Folding his hands on the table calmly, a slight twitch of his doors was the only hint of the emotions hidden beneath the surface.

"Ratchet. Were the results of the surgery as expected? Is he still functional?" he asked with stiff formality, his doors swept up and back at a sharp angle.

Ratchet nodded silently, never onlining his optics. "Do you really think I'd be here if it was anything else?"

Prowl cycled his optics in a surprised blink. "Actually, yes. Normally I have to drag you away from the medical bay forcibly. Even when the patient is fine."

"Yeah, well 'Jack and Prime ganged up on me and kicked me out," Ratchet replied, making no attempt to hide the bitterness in his voice, nor the exhaustion that was hiding below it.

After a moment he lay back and covered his optics with one hand. He was the picture of exhaustion, lying there in that oh so human pose. Prowl couldn't help but sigh in sympathy. Ratchet never heard the soft exhalation.

"Thirty-seven hours just to stabilize him, and I don't even want to think about how much longer it'll take to fix all the non-essential systems and the cosmetic damage. Not to mention what Smokey's going to be facing after we get him all back together," Ratchet muttered.

Prowl stood and locked the door before approaching the big medic and kneeling beside him. "But Bluestreak is still alive, right?" he asked, one white hand came up to brush Ratchet's cheek with surprising tenderness. "That's all that matters right now."

Ratchet leaned into the touch, almost unconsciously. "No, what matters is that we nearly lost him more than a dozen times thanks to that monster, Scrapper." He took Prowl's hand in his own and squeezed it gently, but his engine growled in irritation. "Between him and that psychopath Vortex-"

Prowl ran a thumb over Ratchet's lips, silencing the medic. "Ratchet, you didn't lose him. I saw your initial report and there was only a-"

Ratchet sat up suddenly and moved away from the 2IC with an irritated noise. "Don't you dare quote numbers at me, Prowl!" He stood, careful not to knock the Datsun over, or hit those delicate doors, and began to pace the room. "You know I can't stand it when you reduce our troops to numbers."

Prowl sighed and dropped his head at the old argument. "You know that I don't reduce them to numbers, Ratchet. You know what I meant." 

Ratchet shook his head and stopped his pacing, leaning against the wall wearily. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I just- ... I'm tired and I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

Prowl stood and stepped up to Ratchet and placed a hand on his chest. "I know. I understand. I do."

Ratchet looked down at his friend and lover and saw the pain he was feeling. Bluestreak was like a brother to Prowl and Smokescreen. There were so few Praxians left and they both felt responsible for the broken mech. It was rare for Prowl to show such overt emotions, but he was just as exhausted as Ratchet and it was telling on him. Ratchet pulled Prowl against him into a hug and buried his face in the Datsun's shoulder, ignoring the twinge in his back as he leaned over.

Prowl melted into the embrace and revved his engine softly and soothingly. "You'll be paged when he comes online, right?"

Ratchet nodded. "Yeah. First Aid knows I'll hand him his aft if he doesn't," he murmured into the crook of Prowl's neck. “Have you rested at all? Refuelled at all?”

Prowl shook his head slightly. “Prime and I only got back an hour ago. And we’re still not done with the clean up. But that will all wait until tomorrow. None of us are any use to anyone if we’re exhausted beyond all reason.”

“Yeah,” Ratchet said softly before pulling away. “You need to recharge. Both of us do. I’ll meet you back at our quarters as soon as I’ve swung by medbay one last time.”

He squeezed Prowl’s hand gently before moving to the door. The tactician tightened his grip, stopping his mate.

“If you go back to med bay, you’ll end up staying there all night.”

“I won’t,” Ratchet replied. “I’ll be right back as soon as I’m sure everything is clear.”

“And that won’t be until Bluestreak is up and moving under his own power,” Prowl said carefully. “Ratchet, you won’t be on any use to anyone if you wear yourself out. You have good, strong backup personnel working with you; they can handle things until tomorrow. Let them do their jobs and come take care of you for a few hours.”

“Prowl, I’m not planning on spending the night there.” Ratchet’s tone was sounding more than a little annoyed. “I’m just-”

Prowl cut Ratchet off with a look. “I know you’re not planning to, but I also know you. Very well. There’s a greater than seventy-two percent chance that something will keep you there and you will end up recharging on that cot you have stashed away in the back of your office. You never recharge properly when you spend the night in med bay, so you will be exhausted in the morning and that will lead to a twenty-three percent chance of you making an error.”

Prowl could see Ratchet’s jaw bunching in irritation at the numbers and the accusation. He continued anyways.

“Ratchet, please. We need you fully functional. _I_ need you fully functional. If something happens as a result of you being tired you’ll never forgive yourself. I can’t lose you to a depression and if that means I have to pull rank and order you to go to bed, I will.”

The medic glared at the 2IC, daring him to follow throw with the threat. “None of that is going to happen. And don’t throw numbers at me.”

Prowl wasn’t about to back down from his position, even in the face of the irritated CMO. “You can’t be positive of that, Ratchet. You said yourself that First Aid will let you know if there is any change in Bluestreak’s condition.” He stepped up to the larger mech and put a gentle hand on his chest. “Please, just come get some fuel and some rest, okay? I promise I won’t let you miss the morning shift.”

“I-” Ratchet seemed about to continue the argument but then offlined his optics in weary defeat. “… fine. You win.”

Prowl reached up to brush Ratchet’s cheek lightly. “Thank you.”

Taking the medic’s arm, he led them both back to their quarters.


End file.
